Grass Roots Page 7

  “Why not? Any evidence to the contrary?”

  “Just what I’ve told you already.”

  “So you preferred to believe your witness rather than Miss Joiner, is that it?”

  “Yes, sir.” The sheriff was becoming annoyed now.

  “Sheriff, was an autopsy performed on the body of the deceased?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did the autopsy show that the deceased was raped before she was murdered?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then why is my client not charged with rape?”

  “You’ll have to ask the prosecutor about that. It wasn’t my decision.”

  “Very well; I’ll excuse you, Sheriff, and we’ll hear directly from Miss Joiner herself. Your Honor, the defense calls Miss Charlene Joiner.”

  The sheriff and Charlene changed places, and she was sworn. She was composed and seemed almost demure.

  “Miss Joiner, where were you on last Thursday night?”

  “I got home from work a little after six.”

  “Were you home all evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where was Larry Moody during that time?”

  “At home with me.”

  “Did he leave the house after you came home from work?”

  “No.”

  “Not at all? He didn’t go to the grocery store? He didn’t go out for a beer?”

  “No, he was at home with me until he went to work at eight o’clock the next morning.”

  “Did you leave the house at all during that time?”

  “No.”

  “Miss Joiner, do you understand that you are under oath, and that, if you lie to this court, you are liable not only for a charge of perjury, but one of being an accessory to murder?”

  “Yes, I understand that, but I’m not lying. Larry was home with me from just after six that evening until eight the next morning.”

  “I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor.”

  The Judge looked at Elton Hunter, and Hunter shook his head. “You have any other witnesses, Mr. Lee?” the Judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor, one more. I call Mr. John Morgan.”

  Morgan took the stand and was sworn.

  “Mr. Morgan, how long have you known Larry Moody?”

  “Well, since he was in high school, I guess. He played football, and I was a member of the Quarterback Club. I got to know him then.”

  “And when did he come to work for you?”

  “Right after he got out of high school. Larry was a little light for college ball, and he wanted to go to work.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “I guess it was nearly seven years ago. He came to work in our La Grange store. We trained him, and eventually, two years ago, we sent him over here to Greenville. We have a lot of accounts here, and it seemed like a good idea to have a service office here.”

  “Why did you choose him to come to Greenville?”

  “Because he was real good at his work—excellent, you might say—and because he was always absolutely reliable.”

  “Do you pay him well?”

  “He’s the best-paid employee we’ve got.”

  “Mr. Morgan, you told me you were willing to put up substantial bail for Larry Moody. Why are you willing to do that?”

  “Because I believe in Larry. He’s a fine young man, and I’d trust him with my life.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Morgan. No further questions.”

  Again the Judge looked at Elton Hunter, and he declined to question the witness. “All right, Mr. Hunter,” the Judge said. “Sum up for me.”

  Elton Hunter rose. “Your Honor, you’ve heard the testimony of the sheriff, an experienced law-enforcement officer, who has explained his case. The prosecution wishes the accused bound over for the grand jury.” Hunter sat down.

  “Mr. Lee?” the judge said.

  Will stood. “Your Honor, you have heard the sheriff say that his witness did not actually see my client’s face, and that his physical evidence has not been exclusively connected to Mr. Moody’s van. You’ve heard a reliable witness say that Mr. Moody was at home with her for the entire evening. You’ve also noted that, even though this was clearly a rape and murder, my client has not been charged with rape, which indicates to me a shaky case for the prosecution. Your Honor, I move that, in view of lack of substantive evidence, the charge against Larry Eugene Moody be dismissed.” This was form; Will had no expectation that the charge would be dismissed.

  “Denied,” the Judge said. “Do you have a request for bail?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I would ask you to consider that the evidence against my client so far presented here is, to put it politely, inconclusive. My client has corroboration of his whereabouts at the time of the crime; he has shown himself to be a stable person with roots in the community; he is gainfully employed and has an excellent employment record, as you have heard. Although employed, he has no savings and has many financial obligations to meet, so it is important to him that he resume work immediately. There is no reason whatever to fear that he might flee the jurisdiction. I request that bail be set in the amount of ten thousand dollars.”

  The Judge looked at Elton Hunter and raised his eyebrows.

  Hunter half stood. “Your Honor, the prosecution opposes bail—”

  “Oh, come on!” Will said. “We’re willing to offer substantial bond, if necessary, but surely there is no reason to deny bail in this case.”

  The Judge looked at Will. “Sit, Mr. Lee,” he commanded. “You’ve had your say.”

  Reluctantly, Will sat down.

  “Your Honor,” Elton Hunter continued, “Mr. Moody is charged with a capital crime—the brutal murder of an outstanding citizen—that has shocked this community. He cannot be let loose on the streets.”

  The Judge hardly paused. “Bail is denied. The accused is bound over for the grand jury, which”—he looked inquiringly at Hunter—“is in session this week?”

  “Correct, Your Honor,” Hunter replied. “I intend to present the case on Thursday, when copies of the autopsy and lab reports are available.”

  “Good,” the Judge said. “Mr. Lee, if the prosecution’s case is so shaky, I’m sure the grand jury will decline to indict, and your client will be free before the week is out.” The Judge stood. “This hearing is concluded.”

  “All rise!”

  When the Judge had gone, Will sat down next to his client again. “I’m sorry, Larry, but our chances were never good for bail—not in a case like this.”

  “But you heard the Judge say that the grand jury might not indict me,” Moody said hopefully.

  Will shook his head. “I won’t be able to plead for you there. A prosecution can get just about anything he wants from a grand jury. I’m afraid you’re going to be in jail until your trial. We’ll see that you’re made as comfortable as possible. Charlene can bring you food, so you won’t have to eat the jailhouse stuff.”

  Moody nodded sadly. “Well, thanks for doing such a good job, anyway. You really gave that sheriff hell.”

  Will grinned. “Just wait until I get him on the stand at the trial.”

  While Moody was allowed to kiss Charlene and speak to his boss again, Will glanced around and saw a number of people he had not noticed in the courtroom earlier. An elderly black couple, both light of complexion, stood talking to a very tall, very black man. Will recognized him as Martin Washington, head of a lawyers’ group called Attorneys for Racial Equality, or ARE, as it was known. That meant publicity, maybe even demonstrations. Bad news.

  Another man, white, whom he did not recognize, was talking with Elton Hunter at the back of the courtroom. As Will watched, the two concluded their discussion, and the man walked toward him.

  “Mr. Lee,” the man said, extending his hand, “I’m Nick Donner, Southern Bureau of the New York Times.

  Will shook the man’s hand. Oh, Christ, he was thinking, this is all I need.

  8

  Will
leaned over the bed and looked into Benjamin Carr’s eyes. They shone brightly back at him. The Senator’s face was expressionless, and it occurred to Will that he had never before seen Carr’s face without expression. Even the poker face for which he was famous was different from this. His features had relaxed into a visage that was soft and childlike, and his mouth seemed to smile slightly.

  The doctor had told Will that Carr might be able to understand him—there was no way of knowing—but that even if he could comprehend, he would be unable to respond by speaking, writing, or signaling. That was the meaning of “aphasic.”

  Will pulled a chair up to the bed and took Carr’s limp hand. “Senator,” he said, “it’s Will. I know you can’t talk, but I hope you can understand me. I just want you to know that you’ve had a stroke, but now you’re stable. The doctor doesn’t know much more than that. He doesn’t know … when you’ll regain your speech.” He had almost said “whether.” Will paused and tried to think what else the Senator might want to know. “Miss Emmy has been here, and so has Jasper, right along. They’re both resting now. The Governor came right down as soon as he heard, but he had to go back to Atlanta.” He paused again, then decided to tell him about his sister. “The doctor and I had a talk with the Judge, and he signed a temporary order giving me authority to handle your affairs. I didn’t think Miss Emmy was up to it. Minnie and Jasper will take care of the household, paying the bills, and so forth. I’ll be available to make any other decisions until you’re on your feet again.” He stopped again. He wanted to say something to encourage the man, to make him want to get better. He wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do, but he did it anyway. “Senator, I know you real well, and I know you’ll be yourself before long. I’m still planning on running your reelection campaign, so don’t you let me down, you hear? I’ve already told the staff that nothing has changed,” he lied.

  Carr’s face never showed a flicker of change, but to Will’s astonishment, there was a movement in his hand, as if he had tried to grip Will’s.

  “That’s the way, Senator,” Will said. “I felt that; I know you can move that hand. You just keep at it, all right?” Carr closed his eyes as if he was sleepy. Will squeezed his hand and left him.

  In the hallway he encountered Dr. Daniels. “He moved his hand, Doctor,” Will said excitedly. “He gripped my hand for just a fleeting moment.”

  The doctor looked doubtful. “I don’t think he’s capable of that in his condition. What you felt was probably an involuntary muscle spasm.”

  “Well, what are his chances of regaining some movement and speech?”

  “It’s hard to say,” the doctor replied. “I’ve seen some patients bounce right back after a very serious stroke. I’ve seen others become vegetables after what I thought was a minor one.”

  “What if he did grip my hand? What if it wasn’t an involuntary spasm?”

  “That would be a very good sign. If he can make that sort of movement now, so soon after his stroke, then, with therapy, he could recover quite a lot. If he remains stable, I’ll send him home in a few days, maybe even for Christmas. After he’s comfortable at home, then we can start him on some therapy and see how he reacts.”

  “Doctor, I’ll tell you in confidence that he was planning to run for another term next November. Has he any chance of being well enough for that? He wouldn’t have to campaign, as long as he could look into a television camera and speak. As long as he can think and express himself. I think if he couldn’t be in the Senate, he’d curl up and die.”

  The doctor didn’t speak for a moment. “Will,” he said finally, “I can’t encourage or discourage that idea. I just don’t know enough. But any patient will respond better if he has something to look forward to. It can’t hurt to keep talking to him about it.”

  “Doctor,” Will said, “can I ask a favor of you?”

  “Of course.”

  “When you talk to the press, will you say that he’s responded in some way to treatment? I don’t mean for you to lie—after all, he did try to grip my hand; he really did. It’s just important right now that nobody thinks he’s a vegetable.”

  “Like Mack Dean?” Daniels asked. “I suppose our Governor would like to be in the Senate, wouldn’t he? After all, he can’t run for a third term.”

  Will smiled. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said.

  *

  At home, in his cottage by the lake, Will began to make decisions. It was Monday night, the twenty-first of December, two days since the Senator had had his stroke. He had not been returning phone calls since Saturday. He sat at his desk and opened his briefcase, looking for his address book and diary. On top of those, he found the padded envelope of anonymously sent money. There was a small safe in a cupboard in his bedroom; he opened it and tossed the money inside, spinning the lock. He had the odd feeling that he might want to give it back at some stage, if he ever found out who had sent it to him.

  Back at his desk, he switched on his computer and composed a telegram to the Senator’s other staff members.

  SENATOR CARR HAS HAD A SERIOUS STROKE, BUT HE SEEMS TO BE RESPONDING TO TREATMENT, AND I AM HOPEFUL HE WILL RECOVER. IN THE MEANTIME, I AM SURE HE WOULD LIKE TO HEAR FROM YOU. I WILL SEE YOU BACK IN THE OFFICE ON JANUARY 2ND. PLEASE DON’T DO ANY JOB HUNTING—AT LEAST, NOT UNTIL YOU HAVE TALKED WITH ME. I AM AVAILABLE AT HOME IN DELANO IF YOU NEED ANY FURTHER INFORMATION. WILL LEE.

  He typed a few keystrokes, instructing that it be sent to the list of staff names, already on file. They would have his message the following morning.

  He telephoned Jasper and instructed him to set up a room at home with a hospital bed for the Senator, and to have a television set there so he could watch Cable News Network and C-Span. “Go ahead and get a tree decorated, too,” he said. “Make it like it always is at Christmas.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Will,” Jasper said.

  “Jasper,” Will said, “you’re in charge down there. Don’t let Miss Emmy push you around, you hear? Just do what’s right for the Senator, and let me know if you can’t handle her.”

  “Yes, sir!” Jasper said emphatically.

  As soon as he hung up the telephone, it rang again.

  “Will, it’s Dudley Wendell,” the voice said.

  “How come I always rate an editor instead of a reporter?” Will asked.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Wendell replied. “I’ve had to bring my man at the hospital back to Atlanta, and I wanted something from you for tomorrow’s edition.”

  “I don’t mind, Dudley,” Will said. “I saw the Senator this afternoon. He’s in good spirits and responding to treatment. His doctor says he’ll be home for Christmas.”

  “What about next November?” Wendell asked.

  “The last thing the Senator and I talked about before his stroke was the election. He had already decided to run again, and until I hear differently from him, that’s the way I’m going to leave it.”

  “Do you really think he can recover from a major stroke in that time?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a strong man had bounced back,” Will said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Dudley, I’ve got to get some sleep.”

  First, though, he looked up Kate Rule’s number at her parents’ house and dialed it.

  “Hello!” she said, sounding both enthusiastic and relieved.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you sooner,” he said. “It’s been wild.”

  “I can imagine. How is the Senator? And how are you?”

  “It just about killed me when I saw him helpless in a hospital bed, but I think he’s going to make it out of this,” Will replied. “It’s just a feeling. You know how tough he is.”

  “Is he going to be able to run again?”

  “Who knows? To tell you the truth, it wouldn’t surprise me. My plan is to go on just as if he is.” Will was uncomfortable with this and changed the subject. “Also, I’ve gotten myself into defending in a juicy murder case down here.” He gave her a blow-by-blow account
of Larry Moody and the case against him, surprising himself that he didn’t say much about Charlene Joiner.

  “You sound beat,” she said.

  “You’re so perceptive,” he replied, laughing. “Is it because my lips are out of touch with my brain? Am I mumbling?”

  “You are. You get yourself into a bed right now, you hear me?”

  “All right. I wish you were in it, though.”

  “So do I. One piece of news before you crash.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve hardly given you a chance to talk, have I?”

  “I got the job. As of January one, I’m the Central Intelligence Agency’s new Assistant Deputy Director for Intelligence. The fourth is my first day, actually.”

  “Oh, that’s great, Kate. I know how much you wanted it. You’ll be great. Before those guys know what hit them, you’ll be DDI. Hell, Director!”

  “I appreciate your faith, lover. Now put your body in bed. Good night.”

  He hung up and set his answering machine to answer on the first ring, then switched off the bell. Will felt a sense of relief that she’d gotten the job. Without it, she’d have been frustrated and unhappy, he knew, but now they’d have another two years, stable ones, in Washington. If the Senator recovered. Will could not allow himself to face the prospect of the Senator’s not recovering.

  He moved sluggishly toward the bedroom, struggling out of his clothes. He had been going nonstop since Saturday, dealing with the Senator’s affairs, defending Larry Moody, and flying all over hell and back. He was through for at least eight hours.

  9

  Manny Pearl was the kind of man who, if he had been bald, would have worn a bad toupee. He was short, plump, and expensively but carelessly dressed in a gray sharkskin suit that was not a perfect fit. Still, he exuded a certain confidence and charm that stood him in good stead with his girls.

  Manny looked up at the girl above him and winked at her.

  Her name was Lauren, or so she said. She winked back, and followed the wink with a huge, sweeping bump, aimed right at him, then turned, stroking his hair with her fingertips. Her G-string was festooned with greenbacks, and all along the runway, men were beckoning her with more.

  Manny tapped his watch and made a key-turning motion, then a sign that meant half an hour. She winked again, then turned her attention to a middle-aged businessman waving a twenty.